Stepped out? Coben was supposed to be in charge of this operation. Who steps out when they’re the ones calling all the shots?
Ludlum lingered for a moment, then left the command center, exiting out onto the street. The scene here was much more orderly, now that everyone had been evacuated. Lines of yellow police tape stretched in a web around a large area. Barricades had gone up at every street.
In the sky above, news helicopters were pushing the limits of allowable airspace. Reporters on the ground pressed against the barriers, cameras and lights in full bloom, microphones extended toward anyone close enough to answer shouted questions.
Where was Coben in all of this?
She moved away from the command center and walked until she was nearly back to Agent Denzel’s car. She would have to let him know she’d been unable to find Coben. She didn’t know what it meant, that the NSA agent in charge had more or less abandoned his post, but it couldn’t be good.
She reached the car and considered her options. She wasn’t about to sit, waiting. There was too much going on here, too many questions that needed to be answered.
She looked toward the target building and saw a man emerge, trailing a wake of paramedics and FBI field agents behind him.
Kotler? she thought.
But no. He looked like Kotler. Remarkably similar. But it wasn’t him.
Kotler’s brother, then. Jeffrey.
If Jeffrey was safe, that meant the building would be clear. She decided she would go in, find Agent Denzel and maybe Dan Kotler himself, and try to work out everything that was happening.
She started walking but stopped when she saw something unexpected.
Two men were moving away from the crowds, toward one of the storefronts. Though no weapons were visible, it was clear that the man in front was being driven under duress. That might have been enough to pique Ludlum’s interest, but it wasn’t what had initially caught her attention.
The man in front was Agent Lee Patterson.
She raced forward, trailing them, drawing her weapon. She was far enough back that she worried she might lose them in the chaos. If they turned into a building while out of sight, she’d never find them.
She managed to catch up enough to see Patterson and the other man duck into an alley, and she followed, cautiously.
Ahead of her, the men hid on the other side of large recycling dumpsters—the sort used to crush cardboard. Patterson turned to face the man who had practically bum-stepped him into the alley. Ludlum pressed against the wall of one building, taking cover behind a set of large, metal circuit boxes. She inched closer, as she could, staying quiet.
They were talking, and if she was still, she could make out the words.
“You have it on you?” the other man asked.
“I ... yes,” Patterson replied.
“Show it to me. Slowly.”
Patterson reached into his coat and took out a rolled-up ream of papers. Even in that condition, and from this distance, Ludlum recognized them.
The manuscript.
“Put it on the ground, and then step back with your hands on your head.”
Patterson did as he was told, backing away so that the man could stoop and pick up the manuscript from the ground.
“Agent Coben, please believe me … I did this because he threatened my family.”
Coben? It looked like she’d found him after all.
Coben nodded. “I know all about that, Lee.”
There was a pause, and Patterson said, “Are you him? The one on the phone?”
Coben didn’t respond but instead brought up a weapon—a pistol with a silencer.
Ludlum felt her heart thump. She gripped her sidearm, then turned into the open space of the alley and leveled her sights on Coben.
“FBI! Lower your weapon!”
She was not a field agent, but she’d had training, both with the FBI and with the NYPD. Still, this was her first time aiming her weapon on another human being. She felt herself shaking but took a breath to get steady.
Coben and Patterson both turned to see her. Patterson, his hands on his head, squinted. “Dr. Ludlum?” he asked.
Coben stared at her. His weapon was still on Patterson. “Dr. Ludlum, my name is Agent Steve Coben, with the NSA. If you’ll allow me, I’ll show you my identification.”
“I know who you are,” she said. “Put the weapon down, now!”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Coben replied.
“Lower your weapon or I will fire!” Ludlum shouted.
Coben seemed to consider his options, then nodded and placed his weapon on the ground before straightening and raising his own hands to his head.
Ludlum fumbled in her pocket, retrieving her phone. She prayed the communications blackout was over and called Agent Denzel.
To her great relief, he answered.
“Ludlum? Where are you?”
“I’m in an alley, not far from your vehicle. I need backup! I’m taking Agent Patterson and Agent Coben into custody.”
Part III
31
FBI OFFICES, MANHATTAN
Kotler sat with a hot cup of coffee warming his hands, across the table from Agent Coben. The manuscript was between them. Agent Denzel was standing, leaning on his fists, staring the NSA agent down.
“Tell it to me again,” he said.
Coben never showed signs of stress. He had an infuriating half smile on his face that made Kotler want to punch him, more for the knowledge that it was entirely contrived than for anything else. Even now Coben kept himself completely masked. Kotler wasn’t sure what that told him about the agent, but he did know that it pissed him off.
“I can tell you everything in detail for a second time, Agent Denzel, but it’s not going to get us any further than right here. My people will eventually be here, and we will leave, with that manuscript. And all the details of this will still be classified well above your pay grade.”
“But you’re perfectly willing to tell me all about Lee Patterson and that muffed handoff?” Denzel asked.
Denzel was angrier than Kotler had ever seen him. The events of the past few days had been stressful in many ways, but here at the end, with no real way to know the facts of all this, it was just impossible.
“Agent Patterson was coerced into stealing the manuscript. A threat to his family. He took it to the location he’d been given, and as ordered he waited.”
“Waited,” Denzel said. “So after all of this, after orchestrating this whole thing to get his hands on that manuscript, the person behind this never even picked it up?”
“Actually, he did,” Coben said.
Denzel blinked. “What do you mean?”
“That manuscript is missing some pages,” Coben replied, nodding to the document on the table. “Specific pages, which tells me that this person knew exactly what it contained and where to find it. They had Patterson leave it in a drop, and then had him pick it up again an hour later. They returned the manuscript to throw us off. To buy time.”
Kotler shook his head. “None of this makes any practical sense, Coben. Who would even know about this?”
“Whoever first located the Black Chamber,” Coben said.
“Here’s what I think,” Denzel replied, leaning forward and staring menacingly at Coben. “I think that person was you. I think you are the one behind all this, pulling all the strings. I think you wanted to get your hands on this manuscript, and you set up this circus to cover your tracks.”
“That would be a neat and tidy ending,” Coben said, nodding. “If a bit cliché. But you’re wrong. I only became involved when you called me. When Dr. Ludlum found us in that alley, I was retrieving the manuscript from your agent. I could make a profoundly solid case that you were the one behind this, Agent Denzel. Though I’d favor Dr. Kotler for it if I’m being honest.”
Denzel scoffed. “Won’t wash, Coben. We have you dead to rights, in that alley, with a weapon trained on Agent Patterson and the manuscript at
your feet. You took him there to kill him so you could escape without anyone even knowing you had this thing.”
Coben again nodded. “Plausible. And I’ll admit, killing Patterson might actually have been the outcome. I took him there so no one else would hear our conversation, which admittedly didn’t work out as I’d hoped. I spotted him on one of the surveillance monitors. He was using his FBI credentials to try to make an escape in all the chaos. And, he says, he took the manuscript with him hoping he might be able to trade it for some sort of immunity, in a trial against him.”
“He says the same,” Denzel replied.
“Corroboration then,” Coben smiled.
Kotler watched all of this unfold, growing more frustrated as time went on. Finally, he asked, “How did you know pages were missing?”
Coben turned to him.
“Liz says that Patterson threw the manuscript down, and you never picked it up. He had it on him the whole time. It’s unlikely he took the time to examine it before trying to make his escape. So how did you know?”
Coben watched Kotler for a long moment, then said, “That’s classified.”
“You knew because you took them,” Denzel said.
“I can’t answer any of these questions, Agent Denzel. But I can tell you that I am not the one behind this. I know it would fit the narrative you’re building, and I also know how much this case has cost each of you, personally. But this wasn’t me, and you’ll be wasting time and resources if you pursue it. However, I do have a suggestion.”
Denzel shook his head. “And what’s that?”
“Follow the money,” Coben said. “That building, the steel walls, hiring the Ryba brothers. It’s all very expensive. Who has that kind of money? Who could operate at that level, while knowing all of the history involved, including how to decipher codes?”
With this, he turned and looked squarely at Kotler.
Kotler blinked, then laughed. “Are you implying that I’m behind all of it?”
Coben smiled. “I’m telling Agent Denzel to follow the money. Wherever it leads.”
There was a knock on the door, but before Denzel could answer two men burst in, flashing IDs that indicated they were NSA. Without a word, they scooped the manuscript from the table.
Agent Coben rose then, pulling on his jacket. “There’s my ride,” he said.
Denzel stood aside, arms folded, watching Coben with a hard stare. Kotler knew they were sewn up for this. There was nothing to say. They’d come in here knowing that they wouldn’t be able to hold Coben for long, and that something like this was the most likely scenario.
Coben paused in front of Denzel before leaving with his two agents. “Ask yourself about the string of coincidences here, Agent. And notice who is at the very center of all of it.”
“Implicate Kotler all you want,” Denzel said, staring into Coben’s eyes. “But he could have gotten his hands on whatever was in that manuscript at any time, and no one else would have ever guessed it was there. Setting all this up? Strapping a bomb to his own brother? Going through all this nonsense to get something he already had access to? None of that makes any sense, and you know it.”
“A lot of things don’t add up,” Coben said. “But trust me. Follow the money.”
With that he and the other NSA agents left the room, with Denzel and Kotler slumping, feeling defeated and unsure of what came next.
Kotler finally returned home.
He felt as if he’d been gone for months. Even when he’d actually been gone for months, he’d never felt so ready to see his apartment. All he wanted was a shower, a hot meal, and a warm bed. He’d order food. He didn’t want to leave the place, now that he was here.
As he walked into the lobby, Ernie greeted him.
“Welcome home, Dr. Kotler,” the doorman smiled. “How’s tricks?”
Kotler shook his head and forced a smile. “Same as always, Ernie. Mostly. It’s good to see you.”
He started to move past and make his way to the elevator banks.
“Oh, Dr. Kotler, your FBI friends never came by, but I did get that footage you wanted.”
“Footage?” Kotler asked.
Ernie held out a thumb drive. “I had it put on this for you,” he said.
“Oh!” Kotler replied. “I nearly forgot about this. Thank you, I appreciate you going to the trouble.”
“No trouble,” Ernie smiled.
Kotler left him then and rode the elevator to his floor. He used his keycard to gain access, and moments after stepping out of the elevator he had shed his jacket, hanging it on the rack by the door, and slumped into his sofa.
He sighed.
From this vantage point, he could see the New York Skyline. It was early morning, though Kotler was only just getting home, and the sun was starting to rise. Maybe he’d have a sandwich and hit the sack. He was feeling the exhaustion of the past several days washing over him.
He watched as sunlight started to glint and reflect from the windows of hundreds of buildings, stretching to the horizon. He felt himself dozing.
The thumb drive fell from his fingers and clattered to the floor, waking him.
He was groggy, and a little disoriented, but didn’t want to crash on the couch when he had a warm bed waiting. Food, shower, and everything else could wait until tomorrow.
He stooped, picked up the thumb drive, and stood. He had intended to drop it on the kitchen counter, where he would spot it later. He was about to do so when he remembered that he hadn’t yet forwarded his written statement to Denzel.
Feeling a little out of sorts, he almost decided it could wait until later. But he fully intended to blow the entire day in bed and didn’t want to catch grief for not doing the paperwork.
He fished his laptop out of his bag and powered it up at the kitchen counter. He had the report ready, and so all he had to do was drop it in an email and fire it off. Done.
And since he was here …
He put the thumb drive in one of the laptop’s USB ports and opened it up. There was only one file—a video with a thumbnail that depicted the downstairs lobby. He clicked on this and let it play.
Whoever had grabbed the footage and done him the kindness of cutting it to the segment he needed. There was little preamble as a man entered the lobby, approached Ernest, talked for a few minutes, and then left.
It was nothing, then. Probably unrelated to all of this. It may have been someone from the press, here to pester Kotler about his role in one FBI case or another.
Kotler was about to shut it off, close his laptop, and go straight to bed, but stopped. He rolled back the footage and looked closer. He was able to capture a still frame and zoom in on it.
He rubbed his eyes, uncertain that he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. Suddenly Kotler was wide awake.
He forwarded the image to Denzel, and then called him immediately.
“Kotler ...” Denzel answered.
“Check your inbox,” he said as he grabbed his coat. “I’m on my way back to your office.”
“Stay where you are,” Denzel said.
Kotler shook his head. “Listen to me, I’ve just found something. I can be there in ...”
There was a loud knock at the door.
“Roland, hold on, there’s someone ...”
Another knock.
Kotler opened the door to see two of Denzel’s agents, identifying themselves by showing their IDs and badges.
“Dr. Kotler,” one of the agents said. “Please hang up the phone sir. You’ll have to come with us.”
32
FBI OFFICES, MANHATTAN
Kotler had been locked in an interview room for the past hour, which really pissed him off. Over the past two years he’d been on both sides of this enough to recognize that someone was trying to sweat him out—give him time to stew, so that when he was questioned, he’d make a mistake.
That someone, Kotler knew, was Denzel.
Finally, the door opened, and Denzel entered.
<
br /> “Roland, what the hell is going on? Did you get the file I sent you? Why am I here?”
Denzel sat across from him, looking somehow angry and disappointed all at once. He had a folder in his hands, and he placed it on the table between them.
“Agent Coben said to follow the money,” Denzel said quietly.
Kotler blinked. “Ok. And what did you find?”
Denzel opened the folder and slid it across the table. “We found you, Kotler.”
Kotler shook his head and then looked at the top sheet in the folder. He read it, then flipped through. “I don’t understand. This looks like bank records.”
“Your bank records,” Denzel said.
Kotler shook his head, examining the pages. “Not mine. At least, not for any account I’m aware of.”
“You’re saying you don’t know anything about this account?”
Kotler shook his head.
Denzel pointed at a highlighted series of numbers. “This is your social security number?”
Kotler looked and nodded. “Yes.”
“Date of birth? Address?”
“Roland, what is this? Where did this come from?”
Denzel took the folder back, closing it. He leaned back slightly, looking at Kotler, then shook his head. “I shouldn’t be the one talking to you,” he said. “Our relationship compromises me.”
“Can you just tell me what the hell is going on?” Kotler replied.
Denzel tapped the folder. “When we dug into the rental records for that building, the lease showed the name of some dummy corporation. They had paid a year’s worth of rent up front, paid for city permits, paid for materials and construction, all from what turned out to be a private account. Your account.”
Kotler stared. “Roland, this ... I don’t know anything about this.”
“You don’t know how a private account with millions of dollars was set up in your name and used to pay for all of this?”
Kotler shook his head. “No, Roland. I don’t.”
“Kotler, we’ve known each other for a couple of years now. I’ve come to trust you. But this ...”
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